


Foliage

by SunflowerSpectre



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Demeter's daughter, F/M, Multi, Pairing undecided, a little more focus on the imprints
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSpectre/pseuds/SunflowerSpectre
Summary: After having spent a majority of her life at Camp Halfblood, Rosemary decides that it's time for her to leave and finally get to know the rest of her (mortal) family in Forks, Washington - or more specifically, on the Quileute reservation beside it.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Pack Member, Sam Uley/Emily Young
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

Rosemary doesn’t have much at camp to pack up, mostly clothes including the ever-noticeable camp shirt. She never brought much with her to camp, learning very quickly that between rowdy campers, sibling disputes, and missions that it’s best to pack light and not get too attached to anything. Always be prepared to lose what you bring to camp. She learned that the hard way after pissing off one of the Aphrodite kids. 

Curtsey of her friend Cora, she does have a few unique weapons sneakily tucked in the pockets. As a child of Hephaestus, Cora is known throughout the camp for making weapons that can’t be detected through mortal metal detectors; getting her to actually make you one can be a whole ordeal, but thankfully their friendship provides her with a bit of leniency. She’s beyond thankful for it and she hopes that small plant that she gifted Cora shows it. She couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to fly back home otherwise, especially since if there is one thing to never pack light on is essential supplies like weapons and ambrosia. Ambrosia is easy enough to hide on airplanes, just like you do any other illegal plant, and even easier when you’re Demeter's daughter.

“You sure that you’ll be okay?”

Billie watches her with concern, eying the small duffle bag that’s being zipped up and tossed over a shoulder. Rosemary offers a comforting smile and tousles Billie’s hair as she passes through the doorway. 

“‘Course I will. If the reservation had a bunch of monsters around, they would have killed me long before I even got to camp. If any do show up, I’ll be sure that they really get to cherish Cora’s weapon work.”

Billie knows that she’s right; having lived on the Quileute reservation until she was eight, monsters would have nabbed her up fast if they were in the area. But that was then and this is now. A lot can happen in nine years, even Rosemary knows this as even she feels the small bubble of anxiety building in her chest. Aside from the brief visits with her father that never lasted more than an hour at a time and the few calls she’s made to him, she has no idea how much anything has changed since she was a kid. To make it worse, she feels like it wouldn’t even matter if it did considering her recall of the reservation is limited.

Rosemary’s expression softens when Billie doesn’t seem as convinced, brows furrowed. Her heart goes out to her sister, but as much as she would love to stay, she knows that if she ever wants to be an adult - a real,  _ functioning  _ adult then there are some things that she has to settle with the very real, very  _ mortal _ world first. She’s never been one to leave loose ends dangling in the air unfinished. Her dad used to tell her that a day would come where she wants to find out more about the other side of her heritage and she knows that today is that day. That she’s spent too long with her mother’s side of the family and next to none with her father’s. 

So as much as she loves her family here, she’s got a whole other family that needs her to. 

“It’ll be okay, kid.” Rosemary tries to reassure her. “Miranda will take good care of you.”

She hates it when Billie pouts, something about it just makes it hard for her to turn away. Billie mumbles something, hesitantly and under her breath.  _ You should have been the counselor.  _ It was a split debate among her siblings when Katie left - Rosemary or Miranda, close enough in age to be a debate, both neck and neck for position of the second oldest. The decision was a hard one for all of her siblings to make until Rosemary made it for them by taking away the decision all together. 

With a sigh, her duffle bag plops to the floor beside her as her arms wrap around her younger sister. 

“Don’t say that, you know Miranda will take care of you guys.”

Billie squeezes her tightly and when she pulls away, Rosemary can see how her lips thin with unspoken argument, brows furrowed. Knowing that she won’t voice whatever frog is in her throat, Rosemary settles for just squeezing her shoulder with a soft, reassuring smile. Billie sighs, but relaxes the tension in her shoulders. 

“Do you promise that you’ll be back to see us soon?”

“I can’t promise that, Bill. I think  _ Mom  _ has seen me more than Dad has.” Rosemary’s grin is more of a grimace, “I can’t keep choosing one family over the other.”

Rosemary cards her fingers through her hair nervously when she sees the way Billie flinches at her words.  _ Way to go Rosie, you’re going to make your sister cry and then leave her without knowing when you’re going to see any of them dead.  _ Billie refuses to quite meet her eyes, shuffling on her feet with a nervous, unsure expression. Rosemary softens, her voice dropping down to a whisper as she leans in. 

“Don’t tell the other family or anyone else in the cabin, but you’re my favorite, Bills. Always have been.”

She parts with a cheeky wink, Billie lighting up as her smile becomes more genuine. Something in Rosemary’s heart lunges; the idea that she  _ will _ be leaving behind Billie and others starting to reach her more than she thought. As excited, and nervous, as she is, at least she  _ knows _ everyone here. 

“Do me a favor Bills,” Rosemary states simply as she starts to leave, glancing over her shoulder as her bag hangs limply in one of her hands. Her smile is sincere, but bittersweet. 

“Don’t miss me too much.”

_ I’ll miss you enough for the both of us. _


	2. Home

It is amazing how something can change so much, yet change so little. New faces occupying familiar spaces. Older neighbors she grew up with that now have more people running around their yards and new lines in their brows.

She’s heading toward a new home, yet it’s someplace she’s visited before. Someplace she grew up in before she got whisked away to camp. She knows exactly which floorboard still creaks and what caused the stain in the bedroom carpet, which window has a gap that lets in the cold air at night. How many steps it takes to get from the bottom floor to the top. But it is someplace that as she got older turned less into a home and more of an in-between place to just sort of exist for maybe an hour to get through the basic pleasantries. 

The ATV she rides is suited for the short drive through Forks and onto the rockier terrain of not-fully finished roads through the reservation. Each turn she makes is a muscle reflex, but she counts the number of new things she sees along the way just as she can feel the eyes of every person that spots her from their porch. If she was paying a bit more attention, if the ATV engine was a just a bit softer, she maybe would have caught glimpses of what they were saying about her.

The house she pulls into looks familiar, but different with the newer, different truck in the driveway and freshly finished porch. Her excitement has transformed into a bubble of anxiety, starting from her chest until she can feel the ball in her throat. When she spots her father coming out onto the porch, she can count the new wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and the worried ones between his brows. There’s a solid moment of a silent understanding that passes between them as she makes her way to the porch. His eyes boring into hers - she feels like it’s some sort of challenge. His way of asking her just how long is she going to be here this time, his way of asking if it’s even worth saying hello. 

Her smile is tight, full of nerves that makes her run her fingers down the side of her thighs after she sets her bag down. She can’t even look him in the eyes. She’s faced monsters - things that have literally killed gods - and she can’t even bring herself to meet her father’s eyes. 

“I’m home Dad,” she finally speaks when he doesn’t. Her voice is soft and unsure.

She should have given him a heads up, but she was scared that if she thought all of this through too much then she would have talked herself out of it. Or worse, he would have said no. But he doesn’t outright object to her, instead a weary smile reaches his face and his hands go to her shoulders, squeezing them tightly. 

“Welcome back.”

She basks in the warmth of his hands as it ignites something in her chest - a warm, familial feeling that she didn’t think she would ever get outside of camp. When they finally pull away, she immediately picks back up her bag, 

“Is my room still in the same place?”

  
Her dad nods and goes to give her a hand, asking her to get the rest of her stuff. She insists that she can carry her own bags and once her dad sees just how little she brought with her, he reluctantly backs off for her to make the tread to the upstairs bedroom alone. Her fingers graze against new wood mixed with old along the railing and certain steps don’t creak the way she remembers, but she still counts each one. A smile makes it way onto her lips when she gets to the top.  _ It’s still twelve steps from here to the top.  _

* * *

Her bedroom isn’t nearly as familiar with different colored walls than she remembers. Some storage boxes are pressed to the side and she can easily guess what Dad used her bedroom for while she was gone. But she swallows down the feelings that are threatening to bubble up in her throat. Taking a deep breath, she reminds herself of the obvious effort her Dad  _ is  _ making. He emptied out as much as he could by himself, going as far as making sure she had plenty of space on the shelves and even clearing out the old beaten desk in the corner. Even the mattress seems new (or at least on the new  _ side) _ . 

She swings her duffle bag and tosses it onto the bed before putting most of her weapons onto the desk. Considering most of them are disguised, they blend right into the desk setting. However, she does tuck a particular celestial bronze dagger into her boot - just in case.  _ Fern  _ has yet to disappoint her in moments of crisis. 

  
  


Fern won’t be able to help her out of this crisis. She can feel her dad’s eyes boring into her as she tributes part of her food to the gods, watching it burn before she continues to eat her own meal. Her dad just watches her, idly picking at his own plate. 

“Do you have something to say…” She presses gently, trying to keep her tone polite as she lowers her fork. 

Dad sighs, setting down his fork entirely as he rubs his temple. “I just don’t quite get -”

He seems at a loss for words, gesturing toward the burned tribute. Rosemary clicks her tongue, “It’s a  _ tribute _ , Dad. I’m half  _ greek _ , I have to do it.”

“You’re half Quileute too,” Dad presses, his tone more stressed and tight.

“I know.” She can’t help the way her voice raises to match his, nor the way she speaks through gritted teeth. “That’s why I came home, remember? It’s not like I  _ wanted  _ to be away from you and the reservation.”

“Are you sure,” Dad’s brows furrow tightly, “Because you never wanted to spend more than an hour here before. You spent all of your time at that  _ camp _ rather than here with  _ us.” _

“For  _ safety,” _ Rosemary stresses, “For yours  _ and _ mine.”

  
“You could have been just as safe here,” Dad’s voice softens, the harshness in his gaze dropping, “We could have made it work.”

Rosemary takes a deep breath in through her nose, rolling her shoulders, “We really couldn’t. The reservation doesn't get that many monsters, but we got incredibly lucky that nothing happened before we found out. I’ve seen campers barely even half my age who barely made it to camp  _ alive _ because of how bad the monsters are.”

“-the wolves protect us,” her father insists, “They protected us then, they could have continued to protect us.”

She can’t get into the logistics of the wolven legends; she doesn’t have the energy for that type of fight, and considering she’s not met any of the wolves personally - just a few whispers passed between the older generation, her dad included - she can’t really form a solid opinion, just theories. 

“But I needed to learn how to protect myself.” In one swift move, she takes the dagger from her boot and swings it onto the table, the sharp edge digging into the wood. “-Which I  _ did _ so that I can be home and now that the war is over, we don’t have as much to worry about and we can live in peace.”

She stands, taking the dagger out of the table swiftly without any resistance, before taking her plate, “I’ll just go eat my room.”


End file.
